


God-Touched

by AmorousGreen



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gods dependent on and shaped by human belief, Loss of Virginity, Vaginal Fingering, Virgin Sacrifice: Sacrificing your virginity to a horny god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22695049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmorousGreen/pseuds/AmorousGreen
Summary: Sarya grows from a small child in the temple of the earth god Kirin, from the day a shipwreck shattered her family and changed their fortunes irretrievably. His priestesses had rescued her and her mother, given them healing and shelter without expectation of recompense, and so she worships him, and believes truly.But she is also a robust young woman, full of natural, healthy desires, and without other outlets in that bloodless sanctuary, she believes in him as a man.
Relationships: (Minor) God/Their Favored Human
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	God-Touched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ruis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruis/gifts).



Sarya grows from a small child in the temple of the earth god Kirin, from the day a shipwreck shattered her family and changed their fortunes irretrievably. His priestesses had rescued her and her mother, given them healing and shelter without expectation of recompense, and so she worships him, and believes truly.

But she is also a robust young woman, full of natural, healthy desires, and without other outlets in that bloodless sanctuary, she believes in him as a man.

She keeps it to herself, for she knows that the other priestesses do not believe the way that she does, that they would not understand or approve. But neither does she think it strange or sacreligious - after all, is he not a god of the earth, of fertility? Are they not called brides of the god?

For most of two decades, Sarya lives an unexceptional life in the temple. If she chafes sometimes at the cloistered, circumscribed life the sisters lead, well, none can fault the sincerity of her devotion. At first she is merely a ward of the order, but soon she begins serving at the altar as an acolyte, and then, when she is fifteen and her moon's blood first flows, is permitted to take the veil and full orders. The day she formally commits her life to the god is one she’s been anticipating for years, but the ceremony in which she is admitted to the novitiate feels hollow somehow. It’s the first time she feels that something is lacking in the traditions of the temple, but far from the last.

Her fantasies start not long after.

***

Kirin is an old god, last remnant of a long-forgotten pantheon. In an age gone by he was revered as the lord of the fertile fields: master of life and death, sovereign over all that grew upon the earth and decayed beneath it. His people made sacrifices to him of blood, of passion, of priestesses' maidenheads, propitiating him for a fair growing season and the dominion of earthly kings over their lands.

But times changed, and cultures with them. As empires rose and fell, the people welcomed new gods. Unrevered, his brothers and sisters faded to nothing. Kirin was at once luckier and not so lucky, for he was instead reimagined into a role amongst the new pantheon.

Centuries later, his followers still keep the sanctity of his temples, still commit priestesses to him - in their way, the people still believe, and so he is sustained. But their worship has changed to a sterile, bloodless thing, and it is a meager existence for a god of earth and virility.

And then _she_ comes along, this little priestess who believes as the others do not. And because she believes in him as flesh and blood, he can manifest to her as flesh and blood.

It's only reasonable that he was frustrated at being so long deprived, and eager at the opportunity to regain corporeality at long last. But, he reflects ruefully, that is no excuse for his behavior when he is first re-embodied.

***

She comes awake suddenly in the night on her small hard pallet, and it takes her a minute to figure out why. Then, as her eyes adjust in the dim room, she realizes a man is standing over her bed, naked and erect.

In the moment before panic takes hold, she meets his eyes - and recognizes the very face she has seen a thousand times in her thoughts and dreams, and so she has no fear.

"My Lord," Sarya breathes.

Perhaps she would have been wiser to fear, the thought strikes her moments later. For in a flash of movement he pins her to the bed and presses his rigid phallus to her lips.

***

He recognizes he has erred almost immediately. Her devotion and her trust fill the small chamber, but so too does her trepidation, and he realizes how fragile those emotions are. Her eyes are wide, startled, and the frantic pounding of her heart rings in his ears. She might let him use her however he likes and never say a word to stop him, but he would destroy everything she is in so doing.

Instead, he pulls back, and moves to sit on the edge of the narrow cot. A gentle touch is required here. If he hadn't been so blinded by his lust he'd have seen that from the first; he knows better.

He's about to swallow his pride and apologise to this mortal girl, but she speaks before he can. She's pulled herself into a sitting position, and only a thin chemise of nearly transparent linen obscures the curves of her body, but her eyes are downcast. "Do I not please you, my lord?"

He leans forward, and reaches out a hand to brush her loose hair back from her face. "On the contrary. You are everything desirable. But I was overeager, and should not have beset you so. I do not want only your body, but your pleasure and your passion."

Some of the tension leaves her slender frame. She squares her shoulders and swallows hard. "Five years I’ve dreamed of you, of … this," she says. “I would serve you, if I may.”

“And serve me you shall,” Kirin says, his voice husky. He pulls her onto his lap, and she comes freely, relaxing against his chest and draping an arm about his neck.

He cups the back of her head with one hand, his fingers threading through her silken hair, and leans in to kiss her deeply. When he pulls away she is breathless, and desire shines in her darkened eyes. He trails a hand along the side of her face and down her neck, then follows that path with the light touch of his lips, enjoying the way she hums with unaccustomed sensual pleasure.

A touch of his power transforms the narrow pallet bed into something more comfortable, lights the chamber with a soft glow. Her skin is golden in the light, her hair falling in dark waves around her face.

He reaches down to pull up on the hem of her shift, stripping the thin garment from her slender form. She trembles, suddenly shy at the loss of that modesty. He pulls her hands from in front of her, pressing a kiss to each palm in turn. “Be at ease, sweet one, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I would look upon your beauty.”

She blushes, and manages a hesitant smile. “As my lord wills,” she murmurs.

He pulls her close and captures her lips again, kissing her until she forgets her bashfulness. His hand comes up to palm her supple breasts, and she arches into the touch and moans into his mouth. She’s squirming in his lap now, and her hands are beginning to roam over his body, and it’s increasingly difficult to maintain his control.

He slips his hand between her thighs, feeling the wetness welling at her entrance. He presses one finger into her slick passage, and her walls clench around it, her flesh eagerly sucking him in. She is so tight - untouched, of course, and the satisfaction of claiming what is rightfully his is made bittersweet by the thought of how many women in this cloister have gone to their graves as maids and the shameful waste of it all. But he does not dwell on that notion; her body is hot and vibrantly alive as only a mortal’s can be and he has never been one to spend overmuch time in thought when there is sensation to enjoy. He presses the heel of his hand to her mound while he crooks his finger inside her. Deftly he finds just the spot on her inside wall that can make a woman gush, and works it until she is gasping and shuddering, her face buried in the crook of his neck to muffle her cries.

He withdraws his hand and slides his arm under her knees, gathering her up in his arms. He holds her close until the aftershocks have faded, then gently lays her back on the bed. He props himself on one elbow beside her.

She watches him with an expression of wonder. After a minute she reaches out a hand to trail it down his side and over his hip, tentatively exploring his body. Her fingers lightly brush his shaft, and his breath catches in his throat. The anticipation is too much to bear. “I need you now,” he groans, and lowers himself onto her.

She wraps her arms around his neck and spreads her legs to accommodate him. He pushes past the barrier at her entrance in one steady stroke, sheathing himself fully in her tight heat. The sensation is exquisite, and with the spilling of her virgin’s blood he is stronger than he has been in centuries. “Mine,” he moans.

“Yours,” she murmurs, reverent, but her whole body is tensed.

He rolls her on top of him. “The pain will ease,” he assures her, reaching up to stroke her hair. “You’re in control now, sweet one; take it as slow as you need.” It’s torturous not to move, not to thrust into her welcoming body, but he forces himself to wait until she is able to adjust.

Gradually her muscles relax and she begins to shift astride him, figuring out what feels good. He is rewarded for his patience as she rides him with growing confidence. He watches her breasts bounce and his shaft appear and disappear between their bodies as she throws her head back and rises up over him. Then, breathless, she leans forward to kiss him while her hips writhe in slow circles.

She straightens up once more and sinks down on him faster and harder, chasing her pleasure, and he bucks up beneath her and gives her his hands for leverage as she leans back and finds a new angle. He’s buried so deep inside her and ecstasy is written across her face and his climax crashes over him without warning. His thrusts grow erratic and he pulls her forward, crushing her against his chest as with a strangled moan he floods her with his seed.

“Holy…,” she gasps.

“Indeed,” he agrees, smugly amused. He pauses to press a kiss to the back of her neck. “I don’t know if you appreciate what you’ve done for me, sweet one. I haven’t been flesh and blood in centuries; it is by your belief and your desire that I can take this form. You will be honored above all others, my chosen one, my consort.” Kirin lays back, stretching out, and his little priestess curls up against his side.

“Does that mean we can do this again?” she asks, her fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest.

“Of course.” He grins broadly, well-pleased. “Now, tell me about these dreams you’ve been having….”


End file.
